


White Noise

by CountingWithTurkeys



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: F/F, Forgiveness, Mind Manipulation, Philosophy, Tags Are Hard, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountingWithTurkeys/pseuds/CountingWithTurkeys
Summary: In the end, Marceline knew that she was being asked one exorbitantly cruel question: What is happiness?
Relationships: Princess Bubblegum/Marceline
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	White Noise

**Author's Note:**

> Real Talk: Hello out there! I hope I'm not talking to the void. I miss you guys! Come talk to me on my tumblr so I know that I should keep writing, because I'm lonely.
> 
> This story is an interesting one for me. It has the same energy I was hoping to accomplish in Tempo. I'm not sure that I succeeded, but I definitely got closer. It came about when I was re-watching the Elementals mini-series, and I watched how characters were reacting to the changing world around them. Other stories have been written about how Marceline must have succumbed to the magic Patience inflicted on the world, but then everything I've written about Adventure Time has always been a little bit more twisted, hasn't it?
> 
> This story is a bit more personal to me, and I consider it a love letter to my own mental and emotional illness. It was originally going to just be a one-shot, but in the end I didn't like the precedent that sets.
> 
> Content Warnings:
> 
> Mind Manipulation (arguable mind control)  
> References to past trauma  
> Implications of lady-sexing (nothing graphic)

She had failed.

It was impossible, it was unheard of. More importantly, it went against everything she knew and valued about herself. Nevertheless, Marceline Abadeer had failed. And just like that, it all came crashing down.

When she was young, still a child in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, she had lost everything for the first time in her life. It had all happened so quickly. Her mother, forced to leave her, because she was a mortal being and her body could only last so long before it would succumb to the radiation that polluted the planet. Her caretaker and only father she had ever known, driven mad by the very magic he used to protect her, to protect them both. He had abandoned her to keep her safe, but Safety came coupled with Guilt, and she could never swallow it, could never stop blaming herself for his suffering. Her friends, those who took pity on her and taught her to survive in an unforgiving world, were left as soulless husks because she had the nerve to search for the answer to Who She Was. 

It never stopped hurting, never stopped sickening her. Somehow, though, she had made her way in the world, found what made her broken and incomplete. She would never be whole, she couldn’t be, not with all of the broken pieces her heart contained and how easily it bled at the slightest provocation. It would always have cracks and jagged edges, always scarred by the ghosts of her pasts and the looming specter of her own birthright but it was  _ her’s _ . Imperfect, but her’s, and to a young woman who had nothing to look forward to and call her own but her next breath that was a fortune she guarded with her life.

Over time those wounds to her soul scarred, and though it, and she, would never be right again she carried on, believing that one day things Would Be Better. They had to be. Had she been aware of it at the time, that this emotion she felt was dangerously close to Hope, she would have been sickened by the very idea. It was much more palatable when she convinced herself it was from the belief that She Had To Keep Going, that to stop now would disgrace the memory of those who died so she could live. And so keep going she did, and in the deepest reaches of the broken and shattered world she found humans, honest to goodness humans, somehow spared from the fate that befell the rest of their kind. Though they initially feared her, for she was half demon and her appearance made that fact inescapable, her music was what befriended them and betrayed the sincerity of her words when she professed that she only wanted to be their friend. It made sense, really; her music was the only part of her to still believe in the light of the world, that One Day It Would Be Okay.

This, too, proved fleeting, for the calamity that brought about the apocalypse gave birth to brand new horrors and gave rise to monsters. She was forced to make a choice: join these terrors and accept that she, too, was what went bump in the night or fight against Fate, rebel against those who sought to subjugate her and curse both her and those she loved to a life of fear. She chose the latter, annihilating an entire species single-handedly in her quest to keep her makeshift family safe. Though she was successful, taking in the very essence of these beasts to strengthen herself in the process, her victory was bittersweet, for in order for these humans to survive they would have to leave the land behind, and her with it. She was just as unnatural, after all. No amount of pretty music would change that, because Life Isn’t Fair.

In the end she died protecting them. She regretted nothing.

Though she knew it was in vain she sought out her makeshift family, feeling her heart break anew when she realized they were Gone. Left alone once more she was forced to confront her most terrifying foe: herself. With only her own toxic thoughts and a small dog for company she learned to navigate the world as it rearranged itself, her own powers as they rearranged her. She learned what she was, tried to learn to come to peace with that, failed miserably, and tried again. And again. And again. Eventually it became too obvious that she couldn’t fight herself, and didn’t find comfort in this Harsh Reality. It broke something inside of her, something good and warm. Somewhere along the way she stopped searching for the shattered pieces of her heart. It was too much maintenance, and she just Didn’t Have It In Her Anymore. Somewhere along the way she lost track of her moral code, buried it deep within herself so that she would never again be reminded of what, and who, she used to be. She was so tired.

She did, however, starve, for her kind were predators and though the human part of her soul - what little remained of it anyway - found her food source to be abhorrent she had little choice in the matter. The irony wasn’t lost on her, and those parts of her that made someone Good - Kindness, Love, Compassion, Mercy, Loyalty, Reason - fell away from her and she was left with what was left. Rage, Despair, Instinct; these acted as her guiding light and she quickly lost the will to fight them, because whatever predilections she once fought she rapidly concluded that they felt  _ good _ . Most of all, though, she found a strange comfort in her insatiable hunger, and though she would learn to ignore her compulsions for brief stints, learn to pretend to be normal, it was just that: Pretend. It would never last long. Somewhere along the way she lost herself, lost whatever it was the humans had seen in her, and consequently she crossed the line from hunting for food to hunting for sport. Struggling with what remained of her humanity proved too much, and as the nuclear winter began to fall she knew she had lost all will to fight, leaving her with no choice but to succumb to the siren song of deep sleep. Mercifully, she didn’t dream in the hundreds of years she slumbered.

By the time her resting place was disturbed by a scavenger in search of Knowledge she had lost her mind. Awakened in a strange new world so unlike the one that she remembered she turned on her intruder, seeing her not as a sapient humanoid but as Food. It would be the first time she sank her fangs into the woman who would one day be her soulmate, draining first her blood then her essence, for that pink that pigmented her skin proved even more delicious. She almost drank the scavenger dry. By the time the pieces of her sanity rearranged themselves into something workable it was too late to stop herself and she was left horrified by what she had done. To her surprise, to her comfort, the scavenger got better, finding her assailant to be a fascinating cryptid, someone - not something - to be studied. They fought, of course, bitterly and with claws and science, but as the pair found in each other what they had previously found only in themselves they grew closer until their souls were intertwined. In each other they found a home and she started anew once more, knowing a kind of serenity she thought lost to her.

Over time those darker memories grew further and farther between and were shoved in her mental vault where they could do her no more harm. Though it hurt to say goodbye to them, and to the people they represented, she turned instead to the future. It hurt, it almost killed her to do so, but the pink woman held her hand and her heart, and caught her every time she fell. In the young scavenger she had found a best friend, a partner, a lover, a teacher. More than anything, though, she found in her a well of infinite patience, and of acceptance both of what she had become and what she aspired to be. The pink candy woman taught her how to reclaim those Good traits that were rightfully hers, helping her to control what scared her while developing the rest into something useful. It was never enough. It was more than she ever thought she deserved.

As the land renewed itself, as animals re-emerged, as her lover and mate found her place in the world she herself built a new home for the third time. This one stuck around, for this Home came with Family, a fellow immortal who called her by sweet pet names and taught her to control her dark urges. To her shock, she realized she was, for the first time in hundreds of years, Happy.  _ This time,  _ she vowed,  _ this time I won’t let anything take my home and my family from me.  _ Making good use of her bloodline’s preternatural abilities she became a fierce defender, impossibly loyal to those she loved and those fewer still she trusted. Even as Order took the place of Chaos in the universe, even as societies rebuilt themselves and Law replaced Anarchy in the world she remained vigilant, always wary of strangers, striking them before they could rob her of the life she built through blood, sweat, and tears. Most of which was her own.

Soon the threats turned fewer and fewer, and those that did emerge were weaker and weaker, herself stronger and stronger. Being so overpowered took away the urgency in her fights, which allowed them to morph into a deranged form of courtship display, a demonstration of her strength, worthiness, and ability to provide for the scientist who was once a scavenger, who in turn found the whole situation morbidly delightful. Somewhere along the way she had lost sight of what was important, had gotten complacent in her most sacred of duties to protect the woman she loved, her last bastion of happiness. She had grown so powerful that the very idea that there was a true threat to her became laughable, and laugh she did. Who would dare? What could touch her and her happiness now? She remained watchful of new threats, so watchful indeed that she disregarded - or, perhaps, never even considered - that the greatest danger to her happiness was her happiness itself.

And so, Marceline Abadeer could only watch helplessly as her sense of security, her greatest joy in life, was cruelly robbed from her. Again.

“Bonnie!”

The strangled cry was in vain, and she knew it. Even to her own ears it felt helpless and pathetic, but this dire situation was no time to admonish herself. This creature, this  _ thing,  _ wasn’t her Bonnie, and no amount of shouting would change that. Something had happened to her lover, her best friend, something unnatural beyond unnatural, something that heard the vampire say ‘I’m happy’ and was offended by it. A bolt of rage cracked through Marceline’s chest and she felt her hand engulfed in a flame, felt her fangs extend and her eyes slit in preparation for a fight. It was her nature, of course; find the source of her pain and kick its butt, tear it to pieces, make it suffer for the audacity of messing with her. Given the choice between Fight and Flight, her choice would always be Fight.

Except.

_ What are you going to do?,  _ she heard her subconscious sneer,  _ melt BonBon? _ With a snarl and more force than was strictly necessary Marceline slammed her flaming fist into the pink ground, smothering her fire. It was cruel, so monstrously cruel, and the demon dropped to her knees, then sat at the base of the pink tower.  _ Except… it’s not a tower, is it?,  _ that voice deep inside cackled. That rage, that wonderful, invigorating rage sparked once more but Marceline resisted, smothering her internal fire once more before it could hurt anyone without her permission.

When had it all gone wrong this time? It wasn’t exactly a helpful question, nor even a very good one objectively speaking, but it was the same one Marceline always asked herself when she felt her life silently fall apart around her. Her internal despair warred with her rage for control of her actions, for the right to determine what would happen next. It was the definition of futility, but the equilibrium brought some clarity of mind. Some, not a lot, just enough to focus her ire exactly where it belonged. _I’m going to kill that blue tranch,_ she mentally snarled. Yes, that was right, she remembered now. It had gone wrong with _her_ , with that ice elemental who had invaded the vampire’s home on a high horse, armed with some bizarre prophecy.

Marceline blamed herself. Just like she always did.  _ Maybe if I’d just been paying attention I would’ve seen this coming? I could’ve done something… right?  _ She laughed a silent, bitter laugh.  _ I have all the power to break the world, but not the strength to do a globbin’ thing to save mine. Figs.  _ With a forceful exhale she rested her back against the pink structure, taking great care that no part of her exposed skin touched it. Her head followed suit and she tilted her hat back, just enough for her to glance skyward.  _ Hang in there, Bon.  _ Without meaning to, she relaxed her fist, resting the palm of her gloved hand against the soft ground.

It had happened so fast. Cliche, but true, not that that made it any better. One day there was Ooo, minding its own business, unaware that anything was amiss or that another great evil had secretly awakened. The next day that evil strolled in, smug and self-assured, and ruined everything Marceline had ever loved. It came in, babbling something about ‘elementals’ and ‘reincarnation’ and ‘evolutionary potential’, all nonsense even in a world made of nonsense. No one took it seriously at first. No one except for her, the only one who had lived long enough to know the true danger in assuming that Things Never Change. She was old enough to see the pattern, and she knew it only took one idiot to ruin everything. This century’s idiot just so happened to be named Patience St. Pim.

Patience had moved quickly, wasting no time in ruining the world. She was hysterical, frenetic in her dedication to forcing Bonnibel, Phoebe, and Slime Princess to join her. She had called the three, called herself, living embodiments of the four elementals that governed not just Ooo but the very reality that contained it. She boasted of their combined power, clearly so proud of her scheme to awaken the power latent in the four women. She had even gone so far as to kidnap her cohort when they rejected her tale as outlandish, or at the very least pointless. They had expected that when that plan fell through she would give up and admit defeat, leave the three alone.

Marceline knew better. Deep in her heartguts, where her well-earned mistrust of others lurked, she sensed that something about this woman was unstable and wrong, that she was more dangerous than anyone was giving her credit for. Her princess had told her the story of her kidnapping and subsequent escape, but she had done so with an odd dismissal of the seriousness of the situation. It was uncharacteristic of Bonnibel to disregard any sort of threat, no matter how small; after all, what was Marceline for if not to get her hands dirty so the candy golem didn’t have to? Something told the demon that she had to act and act fast, before this escalated into something insurmountable. Regrettably, she was too well-trained and when her lover said no Marceline didn’t have it in her to disobey.

Instead, the couple fought, and it got ugly. It was an exceedingly rare occurrence for the two to have a row this heated, but this situation was unique. Pride was involved, mixing itself into the fight and mucking it all up. Marceline argued that Patience was a threat, something to be disposed of before she gonked everything up for anyone. Bonnibel, on the other hand, saw Patience as nothing but a strange woman with delusions of grandeur, not a mastermind who knew how to wait for an opportune moment to strike. And so the pair had squabbled, fighting more about Who Was Right, rather than the situation itself. In the end it was a moot point: just as she always had, the demon had submitted to her lover and agreed to leave the ice elemental alone. She couldn’t help it. Bonnibel was too deep in her brain and knew her too well. Knowing how tightly she was wrapped around her princess’s little finger did nothing to help Marceline fight the fact.

_ Well, you were right after all. Do you feel better, Marcy?,  _ the voice snickered from the back of her mind. Yes, Marceline was right, but how could that possibly bring her any comfort?  _ I should’ve tried harder. This is my fault.  _ Yes, Marceline had agreed to leave Patience alone, but she hadn’t gone quietly into the night. Instead the queen had said some choice words about Bonnibel’s arrogance and stormed off, never looking back. Maybe if she had things would have been different. Maybe if she had she would have seen Bonnibel open her mouth to apologize, or caught Peppermint Butler trying to stop her because, in a bizarre twist of fate, the kingdom’s most esteemed servant agreed with his ancient nemesis and wanted to assist her in helping his creator see reason. At the very least Marceline would have seen the Candy Kingdom as it Should Be one last time. Instead she had to live with the knowledge that the last thing she had said to Bonnibel was something cruel, something she hadn’t meant but didn’t have the courage to take back once the words were spoken.

And now Bonnibel was gone.

Marceline’s jaw clenched as traitorous tears threatened to fall, only stopped when she pulled her knees against her chest and rested her forehead against them.  _ What did I do?  _ Even in her mind her voice sounded small, more like the helpless sick child she once was, rather than the walking super weapon she had become.  _ I did it all right this time. Didn’t I?  _ Out of reflex she clenched her fist, breaking a finger in a vain attempt to stop this spiral her thoughts were tumbling down. It didn’t help. Instead, she heard that dark voice, the one that sounded suspiciously like herself, taunt her.  _ Sure, Marcy. You did everything right. Except for that teeny little part where you failed miserably. _

And that was what it all came down to, wasn’t it? She had failed Bonnibel, her best friend, her mate, the only person she held herself accountable to. Now the scientist was being punished for the vampire’s rage and immaturity, and Marceline was forced to watch as her home was modified into something alien and surreal from the effects of the very magic Bonnibel herself had denied possessing. Gone was the springy chartreuse grass, where not even a year prior she had played a sold out concert. Now it was a strange, squishy pink ground, so soft that, if she closed her eyes, the singer could swing she was stroking down her lover’s hair. Gone were the fruit trees that bordered the kingdom’s boundary, warped into something festive, something pink with happy lavender trunks, unnatural and out of place even in Ooo. Gone were the Grassland and Candy Kingdom denizens she so loved to prank, their forms twisted and corrupted, blood and flesh replaced with sugar and gelatin, eyes vacant and hollow, grins large and unsettling. Gone was the bright blue sky, replaced with indigo and magenta clouds that made her skin crawl.

She could live with that, all of it, if not for what Bonnibel herself had been subjected to. Whereas the mutated denizens of Ooo giggled mindlessly, their minds permanently altered to accept only a pseudo form of joy as their only emotion Bonnibel had transformed into something truly grotesque. Everyone else seemed lucky enough to keep some semblance of their true form, but her princess, her greatest source of happiness and comfort, had been warped whole, both mind and body. She had grown as tall as twelve giants until she was almost indistinguishable from the tower she had called home, unrecognizable even to the vampire. She was no longer even closer to being humanoid. Herself.

The first time she saw this Marceline had given up holding back what terrified her about herself. She had reached deep within, plunged into the darkest reaches of her blackest instinct and found the demonic fire that had sustained her through all of her younger years, first figuratively, then later literally. Unable - or perhaps simply unwilling - to control her rage she hunted down Patience. Perhaps sensing the very real danger Marceline posed the woman coughed up what she professed would solve everything. Like a fool blinded by hope the vampire had tried the ‘cure’ the blue tranch had promised would make things right, but by the time the lie was exposed Patience St. Pim was long gone, having retreated to the safety of her ice domain. 

Marceline knew she had enough fire power - literally - to burn the fortress and everyone who resided within to the ground, but-  _ it would serve them right it would they deserve it they took her from me she took her from me if I make her suffer - _ what then? She would feel better, certainly, watching the light in the ice elemental’s eyes extinguish, tearing her body to pieces, absorbing her soul so she could never, ever escape Marceline’s claws and judgment. There was just one little problem: It would mean leaving Bonnibel, who was still vulnerable adjusting to her new form, unguarded. Even though Marceline knew,  _ knew,  _ that the thing she rested against was no longer her lover her soul, her stupid, stupid soul wouldn’t let her tear herself away from her side.

Was this what madness felt like?

From her vantage point Marceline had watched as the Candy Kingdom was corrupted at her mate’s hand. She didn’t want to, but if she had learned anything from the younger woman it was that if she wanted to fix a problem she needed to know as much about it as possible. To look away, even to save the shredded remains of her sanity, would dishonor her memory. Mimicking the behavior she had watched Bonnibel engage in thousands of times before Marceline disassociated, watching the spectacle with clinical detachment. It hadn’t lasted long, she just didn’t have it in her, but it lasted long enough for her to realize that whatever this curse was it passed by touching the pink substance that emanated from the tower; the more it was touched, the faster the transmogrification.

She had to know.

Maybe it was morbid curiosity, maybe she was punishing herself, maybe it would provide something like closure, or maybe she thought it really would provide answers. Regardless, Marceline had bit her lip, using the pain and the tangy taste of her own dead blood to ground her, and taken off her glove. Relying on her large brimmed hat for protection from the Sky Ball of Death the vampire removed her glove. Whatever this, all of this, was, she had to be stronger than it. Marceline had reached out to the tower, hand shaking, repeating her mantra over and over again in her mind:  _ Do it for Bonnie.  _ Daring no more, she placed her palm against the pink. The tower was warm, it was soft, it was full of life. It felt like Bonnie, it smelled like Bonnie, it  _ felt  _ like Bonnie. That wasn’t what got to her. No, that distinction was reserved for the whispers.

They were so different than the self-deprecating ones she had been contending with her entire life, even different than the encouraging ones she had only recently manifested. These were gentle, calming even, dampening even her desire for revenge, muzzling her internal screams of rage and despair. She growled at the mental invasion but that, too, was silenced by one simple but horrifying fact: the whispers sounded exactly like Bonnie. Bonnie, when they were together in their most intimate moments. Bonnie, calming her down from a bloodlust state before she accidentally hurt herself, soothing her into complacency. Bonnie, praising her, encouraging her, telling the vampire she love-

It took the last of her will-power, but Marceline managed to rip her hand away from the wall, returning the glove to its rightful place. The whispers didn’t diminish immediately, no, that would be too merciful, and their lingering presence unnerved the demon until she was trembling.  _ Calm down. Calm the flip down. It wasn’t real.  _ But then why was she shaking? Why was she resisting the urge to rip the glove off and touch the tower again?  _ You know why, you dip. Because it felt like her and you miss her, and you’re desperate for her to come back.  _ No wonder the candy citizens hadn’t resisted the transformation. It had felt  _ good _ .

And that was where Marceline found herself now: both physically and emotionally at Bonnibel’s feet. If a tower could have feet.

How long had she been here, rooted to this spot, unable to leave but unable to confront the pseudo form of her lover at the top of the tower? She wasn’t sure because, frankly, she didn’t want to know and chose not to. She knew she had slept, or at least tried to; it was hard to maintain floating this distressed, but she knew touching any part of the tower - or the pink ground in general - with bare flesh might mean being overwhelmed with the candy curse, which would mean never finding a solution. Never saving Bonnibel. She herself was only spared from the infection because she got lucky and was clothed fully to shield her from the sun. She knew she couldn’t waste that advantage. If only she knew what to do with it.  _ What would you do, Bon?  _ The thought was futile, she knew that logically, but it didn’t help. Nothing did.

With a strong exhalation Marceline sat there, resting her back against the tower, her head following suit as her eyes closed in frustration. Being at war with oneself was exhausting, doubly so when it came coupled with her passion for maintaining a vigilant, protective watch.  _ You should be used to it by now,  _ the dark voice chuckled. Maybe it had a point. With another exhalation, this one softer, she opened her eyes to gaze skyward. “How you doin’, Bon?,” she whispered. “Hanging in there?” No answer.  _ Figs.  _ She let her eyes close again, resting her head once more on her knees. This time her hand dropped to the ground and she instinctively recoiled the moment her fingers grazed it. This had been her ritual for as long as she cared to remember: Try to sleep, get complacent, touch something she shouldn’t, recoil awake, repeat.

Maybe it was the constant exposure, or perhaps it was her mind fracturing, but the longer she stayed rooted to her spot the harder it all became to keep under her control, to fight back the odd physical transformations of Bonnie’s curse. The clothing was still granting her some protection, limiting the doses she was subjected to of the infection, but in the back of her mind she heard the whispers, the ones she knew invaded the minds of all creatures who touched any part of the warped Candy Kingdom. _Is this what madness feels like?,_ she thought again. It would make sense, really, for the final trial for Marceline’s sanity to be the sweet siren voice of her paramour calling out for her, imploring her to join the elemental at her side, promising that her new happy family could never be complete without the queen.

It was enough to make Marceline hiss and she covered her sensitive ears at the very memory of the voice’s encouragement.  _ Keep it together, Marceline,  _ she commanded herself. Unstable emotions, especially negative emotions, seemed to increase vulnerability to whatever it was Bonnibel was doing to the world; those denizens most despondent and irritable in general were the first to turn, save for herself. Only her righteous fury could keep the whispers at bay, and so it was the one emotion she allowed herself to feel. It was a juggling act though, for she had never been good at letting herself feel angry unless there was something to kill, and someone to protect.

Now they were one in the same.

That thought made her snarl, too, but this time she kept her fire under control.  _ Don’t. Keep it in, ya dingus. You want to help Bon, not melt her!  _ Did towers even have a melting point?  _ Everything has a melting point, doofus.  _ Marceline scowled, both at the logic and because talking to herself, even under these circumstances, couldn’t be healthy. Especially because she was talking back.  _ Alright. Focus. Keep it in. What would Bonnie do? Besides… let herself be turned into… this…  _ Bad train of thought, very bad.  _ FOCUS. You have to help her. You can beat yourself up for failing later.  _ Right, that was a good train of thought, that was reasonable, and she clung to it. The first step, she knew, was that she needed to separate ‘Bonnibel’ from whatever this tower was. As much as it destroyed her she had to stop thinking that the two were one in the same. Bonnie, her Bonnie, was gone, and-  _...if I keep pretending otherwise I’ll let the whispers win. Then she doesn’t get all this gunk reversed. _ Sometimes being a half-demon and thus subjected to a soulbond really blew monkey butts.  _ Okay. Only two peeps know what’s goin’ on. One of them is locked in an ice fortress. Could burn it down… but it’d mean leaving Bon- ...leaving the Candy Kingdom unguarded, and I’m gettin’ bad vibes about Pheebs not returning my calls.  _ That left only one option.

Marceline dug deep within herself, reaching for the demon fire in her soul that was her birthright. No opening could be left for the whispers, no opportunity for her to fall under whatever spell everyone else had given in to.  _ Come on. You’ve rescued Bon before, you’ll do it again. Get mad and don’t let go. You’re a flippin’ walking apocalypse yourself and you know it. You’re not the sad messed up kid you used to be. Bonnie fixed that. Now something’s messing with her. That means it’s messing with you. What do ya do when something messes with your turf?  _ When she felt a spark involuntarily ignite in the middle of her palm she smirked.  _ Rock.  _ It was enough. With that smirk and self-confidence she hoped wouldn’t waver when she needed it most, Marceline grabbed her bass from where it rested against the tower, mounted it to her back, and took to the sky.  _ Hang on, Bon. I got ya. _

As she ascended Marceline felt her skin prickle and her eyes slit. It was the anxiety, she knew that. It was the anticipation for a fight, the desire to eviscerate. Her fingers twitched, threatening to become-  _ claws why do you even have fingers you know what you are fingers are for people you’re not a person you’re a - _ something violent, something unsuitable to the situation, and she pushed the urge down.  _ Calm down, Marceline. Not a threat. Well, yeah, there is a threat, but… ugh, this blows nuggets!  _ Garnet eyes closed as the vampire concentrated, willing her temper under control without smothering her fire. It was a careful balancing act, but one she was experienced with.  _ Don’t think about Patience. Don’t think about what’s happening. Just think about Bon. Just think about- _

“Marcy!”

Marceline’s ears twitched at the sound, at the voice that immediately quenched her fire. It was involuntary and completely disheartening, that effect Bonnibel’s voice had on her. Before she could stop herself the demon opened her eyes, which darted of their own accord in search of the voice’s owner. Not that she was hard to find. After all, what kind of tower had a face? “Hello, Bonnibel.” She had meant for that to sound intimidating, or at the very least resolute, but instead what emerged was a strangled whisper, the sight of even the princess’s approximation, no matter her form, doing strange things to the vampire’s heart.  _ FOCUS!,  _ she commanded herself.  _ Don’t let it fool you! It’s not Bonnie anymore! Find out what you need to help her and get out of there! _

The tower giggled and Marceline reflexively clenched her fist, breaking a second finger to ground herself. “I’m so glad you’re here, Marcy!”

_ It’s not Bonnie it’s not Bonnie it’s not Bonnie-  _ Repeating the mantra didn’t seem to be driving the point home, but it was worth a shot. “Yeah?” Yes, that was it, she praised herself. Short sentences, one or two words, that would hide how her voice wanted to crack at the sight of what had become of the candy golem.

It didn’t work. It never did. Not-Bonnie-But-Still-Bonnie heard the intention anyway and her giggle stifled. The smile remained. It was eerie, a twisted approximation of the real Bonnibel’s smile. The special one, the one she reserved just for Marceline. That did awful things to her heart, too. “Aw, my poor Marcy,” she cooed. “Have you come to let me fix you?”

There. That was just enough fodder to bring her fire back. “I’m not broken, Bonnie. You are. That’s why I’m here. To find a way to help you.”

If the tower heard the undertone of a threat it chose to ignore it. Instead two small arms emerged and Marceline shuddered at the sight. It was just wrong. “Most wonderful!”

When they clapped the growl couldn’t be repressed. “What’s wonderful?”

“That you’re here, silly!” There it was again, that accursed giggle. “I’ve missed you!”

_ Don’t listen don’t listen she’s not Bonnie she’s-  _ “Don’t. Don’t do that,” Marceline replied icily. With another *crack* there went another finger. It wasn’t helping anymore.

“Don’t do what, Marcy?,” the tower replied, making a great show of looking concerned. It almost looked real.

It was becoming difficult, repressing her temper. There were just too many emotions, too many mixed feelings. This thing sounded like Bonnie, looked like Bonnie, and try as she might to overcome it, Marceline had always been an instinctive person, driven to Act and not Think, something surviving the literal apocalypse had only encouraged of her. It was leading an internal war anew, and it wasn’t long until the conflict spilled over. Her eyes slit once more, the anger bursting forth. Or maybe it was just the hopeless frustration. “How dare you wear her face! And use her voice!,” she barked. “You aren’t Bonnie, and you’re going to tell me what I need to do to fix this!”

The tower tilted its head. “Fix what, Marcy?” Its eyes brightened in sudden understanding. “Oh! So you are ready to let me fix you!”

The fire couldn’t be contained. Not anymore, never for long, for that went against fire’s very nature, and as Marceline gestured to the Candy Kingdom she no longer fought the flames from engulfing her hand. It was better to channel them into flame-retardant gloves than it was to risk them torching the Candy Kingdom “THIS! All of this! The Kingdom, your candy peeps! All of it!”

“But… not you?,” the Bonnie Impersonator asked sweetly.

Now the fire engulfed her arm, embers flickering and dancing. If she wasn’t careful they would be large enough to melt the ground, or whoever or whatever else they landed on. Marceline knew that, cared about it briefly, and then disregarded that knowledge. She had only so much energy, and that was monopolized by the task at hand. Surely Bonnibel could fix whatever she broke when this was all over. After she grovelled for breaking it in the first place. So long as Bonnie wasn’t the one hurt. One problem at a time. “I’m not broken!”

For a brief moment, a shining, glorious moment, the tower stopped smiling, instead fixing Marceline with a look of pity and the vampire dared to hope she was getting somewhere. Then that blasted grin came back, coupled with that giggle, hidden behind pink and perfect hands. “Silly Marcy,” the tower cooed once more. 

Faster than Marceline gave her credit for the Faux Bonnibel reached out for her flaming arm. The anger ceased immediately, fleeing in fear at the very real possibility that the demon might break her vow to never hurt her lover. Terror shot through her, settling into the pit of her stomach, though try as she might her mind just wasn’t clear enough to prevent the potential and highly probable calamity. After all, sugar has a very real and very low melting point. “Bonnie, don’t-”

Her panicked warning was cut short by the pale pink hands gently closing around her own gloved ones, smothering the fire. Marceline blinked, confused, but her stun was short lived and the Pseudo-Bonnibel allowed her own hands to be frantically checked for any sort of injury or damage. Nothing.  _ That’s… not possible. She might be a tower but she’s still made of-  _ Now that wretched smile was knowing. Affectionate. It stayed as its possessor slowly, oh so slowly, pulled the musician towards her, fully aware that the demon’s single-minded determination would distract the older woman, just long enough to close the distance between them. “See? All better!”

Marceline’s flabbergasted expression was too endearing, and the tower giggled once more. “You’re not burnt,” the vampire whispered, disbelieving. 

The bewilderment was endearing too. “Nope!,” Bonnibel-Tower chirped. “You would never hurt me, silly!”

That snapped Marceline back to focus, back to the present, but when she tried to withdraw her hands she found they were being held, not tightly, but firmly enough to prove a point. If only she knew what it was.  _ Fine. Be that way. The gloves’ll stop you and your dumb curse anyways.  _ She hoped. “Wrong. I’d never hurt  _ Bonnie.  _ Whatever you are, you ain’t her.”

And yet the pink hands were tracing her palm, her hand, her knuckles, exactly like- “Then why did you call me Bonnie?,” she asked sweetly. When Marceline opened her mouth for some retort the younger monarch shook her head sadly. “Poor Marcy. I understand. You must be so scared and confused.”

Marceline’s eye twitched. Enough. “Look. This isn’t hard. Tell me what I need to know and whose face I need to break and you can go back to candy-fying your peeps.”  _ At least until I get back with a solution.  _ “Cool?”

The pink mess clicked her- its tongue. Exactly as Bonnibel did when she thought Marceline was being unreasonable, immature even. How insufferable. “You always respond to fear with violence, don’t you?” That upward inflection was unnecessary; it was a statement, not a question.

The demon bristled. “I’m not-”

“Yes you are.” The grip on her hands didn’t loosen but it did soften and an involuntary shudder shot through Marceline when pink fingers began tracing down her wrists. Even protected by the gloves the sensation was just too familiar. It ached. She ached. “Did you forget how well I know you? Silly vampire.” More giggling. “I can see it in your eyes. You can lie to yourself, but not to me,” she sang.

An alarm bell went off in Marceline’s mind, and though she couldn’t place its source she hadn’t survived a thousand years by ignoring her gut instinct.  _...Alright. This isn’t getting us anywhere. Time to- _

“You’re thinking about leaving, aren’t you, Marcy?”

The syrupy-sweet voice interrupted her thoughts, and the demon heard the alarm bell turn into a siren.  _ Get out of my head, Bon.  _ Maybe Phoebe was right and the princess was too deeply ingrained in her mind. That would be something for Future Marceline to deal with. Present Marceline had bigger issues. Like running. “Yeah,” she grunted, “That’s right. I’m out of here.”

Now that smile was sad, though no less affectionate. For some reason Marceline found that even more unnerving. “My poor, sweet little bat-”

And just like that, the fire deep within the demon exploded into something almost violent. Her eyes pinned and her hands were yanked free. Except they weren’t hands anymore. No, they were massive, furry claws that shredded the gloves as they grew, her mouth full of sharp fangs that clipped the flesh of her lips, not that she was in a state of mind to feel it. Even as her bones began to crack, snap, and rearrange themselves, even as wounds opened, bled, and closed again to better fit her new shape, an amalgamation of a grotesque bat and wolf, Marceline let the frenzy of animosity overwhelm her logical mind, limited as that was to begin with. “You do NOT call me that!,” she roared. “YOU do not call me that!”

The tower was unphased. Briefly, Marceline was fixed with another look of pity, but that was soon replaced with an understanding smile. “What’s wrong, Marcy?” Insufferable.

That just made everything worse. So, so much worse. “ONLY BONNIE CAN CALL ME-”

Too late. Marceline had lost sight of the pink hands, lost of sight of them until one settled on her cheek. “Relax,” a soothing voice commanded, though whether it was croming from the tower or a whisper in the back of her mind Marceline wasn’t sure. Everything had blurred - her sight, her sense of where she was, everything and every sense that mattered - and the musician felt the world fall away, just long enough for her to resume her normal form without realizing it. “There!” The voice giggled as the queen struggled to regain her focus. “Isn’t that better?” Marceline didn’t hear her. A fog had invaded the older woman’s mind, slowing it to a crawl as a foreign sense of peace was draped over her will to fight. It followed the whispers, the voice, and only by breaking another finger was Marceline able to regain her focus, just in time for another joyful giggle. A knowing, joyful giggle. “See? It’s just as I said. You would never hurt me. You’re just a soft little marshmallow on the inside!”

A hiss of an argument tried to escape her, put the hand knew what it was doing: it stayed where it was and traced Marceline’s jaw, her cheek, the shell of her ear. Exactly the same way her Bonnibel used to to bring her down from a state of bloodlust. Whatever roar Marceline had died in her throat.  _ Pathetic,  _ that dark voiced hissed from the back of her mind.  _ You’re failing. Again. _

The tower looked concerned. It almost looked real. So ‘almost’, it hurt. “Please, let me fix you, Marcy. Come home. I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m not broken,” Marceline whispered. The disparaging voice in the back of her mind said something else, something even more derisive, but it was drowned out by the whispering and the demon found herself preferring the candied lies over her own internal narrative. That scared her, but soon even that fear was replaced with something like relief, something like shame.

“No,” the tower agreed sweetly. “But you’re hurt. I can see it in your eyes, silly.”

Could she? Bonnibel herself certainly had that ability. It came with the territory of a multi-century long relationship. Marceline opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again.  _ Alright. It might not be Bonnie but it has her memories and junk? I guess. So there’s no sense in- _

“Lying to me won’t help you, my sweet little marshmallow.” That terrible giggle.

Now Marceline did growl, even if it was a strangled thing. Instead she split the difference and settled her companion with a glare. Much more convincing. She hoped. “Get out of my head.” The tower gave a small sigh at the weak and half-hearted order, but it was the same sigh Marceline had always heard Bonnibel give right before reassuring one of her citizens that whatever their fear was, whatever the trouble they were coming to her for, was completely unfounded.  _ Am I being handled? _

_ Do you want to be?  _ Oh good, now the whispers were talking to her directly. That was completely normal, nothing to worry about at all.

“Sweet thing. You’re so afraid. I can see it in your eyes. And I know why!” The tower’s free hand, the one not stroking Marceline’s cheek, beckoned her closer. Against all of her better judgment - not that there was much to begin with - Marceline floated closer. Just a tad. Habit was a hard thing to break. “You’re afraid you’ve lost me, aren’t you?”

“You’re not-”

“It’s always been your greatest fear. It’s why you’re so protective over me.”

“You’re not-”

Interrupted a second time. “I  _ am  _ your Bonnie. You know that! It’s why you keep responding the way you do.” She might not have been giggling, but there was obvious amusement in the Bonnie-Tower’s voice. Knowing amusement. “You don’t want to believe it. But it’s okay! I’m here. It’s alright, Marcy. You don’t need to fight.”

Marceline waited. Waited for the impersonator to continue, waited for her to stop, waited for her to prove one of them right. “Look,” Marceline began carefully, “I get it. You think you’re Bonnie-”

“I am, silly! That’s how I know so much about you!” It was the same insufferable know-it-all tone of voice the real Bonnibel used when the vampire was being ridiculous about something. It was so familiar it hurt. “And that’s why I want to fix you!”

“I’m not broken.”

The hand on her cheek curled under her chin, tilting it up. “But you’re in pain, and isn’t that the same thing? Let me take it away from you, Marcy. Come home.”

Marceline pulled away. Strangely, the tower let her go. Mercifully, the whispers ceased and the vampire exhaled her relief. 

Except.

Except that somewhere, deep in her soul, she was beginning to miss them. It was just too familiar. Not the unearthly disembodied voices, no, that was worrying, but something about this was routine, even familiar. That should have worried her. It didn’t. Something in the back of her mind, some sweet, syrupy voice was telling her  _ not  _ to worry after all. How could she argue with that? “...This isn’t my home.” That sounded a lot more biting in her head. Out loud it just sounded pitiful.

The tower clicked her-  _ its its not her its  _ -tongue once more. “My Marcy.” When the vampire was fixed with a soft gaze she had to resist the urge to squirm. “Look at my children?”

“...Fine. I’ll bite.”  _ Why am I bothering?  _ That question would have to wait; from where she floated Marceline had a terrific vantage point of the Candy Kingdom, of all the transformed citizens toddling about, bodies shuddering in what she supposed was laughter she was too far away to hear, even with her sensitive hearing.

“Don’t you see? They’re so happy! I can make you happy, too!”

“Bonnie made me happy,” Marceline mumbled through the stabbing feeling in her chest. “Them? They aren’t happy. You did something to their mindmeats. It’s fake happiness or… something. Something so they don’t mind the way you changed them. Not the same.”

“Hm…” The tower tapped itself thoughtfully and oh how it looked  _ exactly  _ like Bonnibel’s thinking face. “They certainly look happy, don’t they?”

“Sure,” the demon agreed. “Doesn’t mean they are, Bon.”

“Then what is happiness, Marcy?”

That was a good question, and the older woman’s eyes darted down, just enough to take in the state of the candy victims. Nothing had changed, and maybe that was the problem. “You rewired their minds. You made it so they can’t feel anything but what you want ‘em to feel. Just ‘cause that’s whatevs you think happiness is doesn’t make it right.”

“Is it better than what they had before?”   
  
That thoughtful question was loaded, but-  _ It’s fair, isn’t it?  _ Even in her mind Marceline sounded uncertain, but if there was one trait she and Bonnibel shared - and indeed they actually shared a great many traits with substantial overlap - they were both relentlessly stubborn when they thought they were right. “At least they had a choice before. They could find their own ways.”

“Like you did?” A warning growl emerged from the back of the demon’s throat, but the elemental was unphased. She had already demonstrated that her mate was unwilling if not fully incapable of harming her. If it got her anxiety and angst out so much the better. It would make everything much easier in the long run. It was for her own good.

Those piercing green eyes saw right into Marceline’s soul.

“Yeah. I found my way. I have my life, my jams, my buds, my… mate…” Her trailing off didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the way she looked away from the younger monarch when the reality of what she had said settled on her shoulders.

“Mm…” Wordless acknowledgement stung for reasons Marceline couldn’t place. What came next stung worse. “It’s true that you’ve accomplished far more than should logically possible, given your upbringing-”

The last thing the musician wanted was to give the princess, even if she was the princess, fodder. This had to end now, before she found herself caged by Bonnibel’s logic traps. “Yeah, my childhood wasn’t righteous. I’ve seen some jacked up scrunk, almost died like a thousand times, actually died twice-”  _ You’re not helping yourself, are you starting to see her point?  _ “-but it’s  _ my  _ childhood and  _ my  _ life. Yeah, a lot of my memories are ugly and awful, but they’re  _ mine _ , and the stuff I held onto? The stuff I worked through and around and broke through? They made all that struggling worth it.”

“But… you’re still struggling.” Marceline hated how compassionate, how understanding her foe’s smile was. “I’ve held you through your nightmares, Marshy. I’ve seen you overwhelmed with your own power and helped you work through it all. You  _ have  _ been through so much, haven’t you?” The question sounded understanding and lulling, exactly like a good trap should. “You’ve lost everything so many times. You only wanted-”

“Knock it off!” Now Marceline’s glare  _ was  _ convincing, even if the tower only gave her a serene smile in response. This was getting old and the whispers, even without the physical contact, were starting to persist, starting to whisper reassurances to complexes only Bonnie herself was privy to the queen having. It should have sparked more anger, more delicious, fueling anger. Instead it only left her feeling a strange form of helplessness she swore almost a millenia ago to never feel again. “You don’t know anything!”

“I know you’re afraid,” the tower mused gently, “you’re trembling, little bat.”

Marceline blinked, lifting her hand. She  _ was  _ trembling.  _ When did that start? Why…?  _ Evidently taking it, and her failure to respond to the pet name with displeasure, as an invitation the tower reached out, wrapping both hands around the cool grey one. It forced the vampire to turn, to meet the piercing green eyes that looked so very, very much like the piercing green eyes she once fell for, centuries ago. If she wasn’t careful she would be lost in those beautiful, hypnotic eyes.  _ And not for the first time.  _ Was that thought her own, or from the litany of whispers in the back of her mind? The implications just made the trembling worse.  _ Don’t look don’t look it’s not- _

“Why can’t I be Bonnibel, Marcy?”

She stopped.  _ Why are you even thinking about how to answer that?,  _ her subconscious asked, exasperated. “Look,” Marceline started carefully. “You’re just too… weirdly happy. Alright? Bon was a lot of things, but she wasn’t that.”

“I wasn’t happy?”

Trick question. Marceline sucked in her breath. “...I mean, yeah-”

“Or… I just didn’t express it to you?” A rumble from the back of her throat escaped her and one hand left Marceline’s arm to cup her cheek once more. Marceline meant to rip it away from her. Instead she nuzzled into it, cursing herself, cursing Patience, then cursing herself once more. Weakness, pure and simple. “I’m sorry, Marcy. Did you think I wasn’t happy?”

That question sounded genuine, even if the deplorable smile remained. But how to answer it? Bonnibel was happy, wasn’t she? She’d never said otherwise, not to Marceline. Not  _ about  _ Marceline anyway. Sure, she had her frustrations in life. They were understandable, given the immense amount of pressure she was under, how many roles and responsibilities weighed her down. But Bonnibel was happy. Wasn’t she?  _ How do I even answer that one?  _ Though she would never, could never, admit it Marceline wasn’t sure she knew the answer.

Another tongue click and that smile turned sympathetic. Some ancient part of the vampire’s soul felt warm. “You try so hard to protect me, and all you ever wanted was to feel safe yourself.”

Garnet eyes narrowed before dilating without her permission when those fingers traced the shell of her ear once more. She ignored that, for the sake of her own dignity, what little was remaining of it. “Uh… walking super weapon? You know. Pyrokinesis, shapeshifting, demon pows-”

“You were so small when you lost everything,” The Not-Bonnie started, not unkindly. “You sacrificed everything, and it was never enough. Just a little marshmallow who wanted a home.” Too far, much too personal. There was just one problem with stopping it: Marceline had made the mistake of trying to rip the pink arm from her cheek, but some traitorous part of her brain, some instinct ingrained deep within, registered that voice, that touch, that  _ look,  _ as Bonnibel, and it wouldn’t let her risk harming the candy golem. Her hand hovered impotently over the arm, trembling in either fear or frustration, then dropped in resignation. “I can see why you’re so conflicted, Marcy. Before I awakened my full potential I was so grumpy, wasn’t I?” The giggle was out of place in that reassurance, but the demon was, regrettably, getting used to it. “When my potential awakened, do you know what happened?”

“You turned into a psycho and turned your kingdom into this crud and decided free will is for suckers?”

“No, silly!” Now it was full-on laughter. “I reached out to my children! I found their happy place for all of them!”

Marceline raised an eyebrow. “...Uh huh.” She hoped that sounded even more disbelieving than she felt, if such a thing was even possible.

“Of course! Everyone has one! I just found it and brought it out for them!”

Marceline sighed, pulled away from the hand so she could sit in the air. In the back of her mind the whispers had turned into a familiar dark purr, the same one that often bid the vampire not to leave in the morning after sharing the princess’s bed. It bid her stay. How could she refuse? “That’s not real happiness, Bon-”

She froze, just moments after the mistake tumbled out of her mouth. It was too late, much too late, and the tower squealed excitedly. “See, Marcy? Deep down you know it’s me!”

_ No no no no no  _ “I-”

“And why can’t it be real happiness?”

Marceline frowned.  _ Why am I still doing this?  _ Why indeed. “Because it’s bonkers! You can’t just be happy all the time!”

“Oh Marcy,” the Pseudo-Bonnie sighed, “how much pain must you be in to believe that? After all, you have a happy place of your own! I can bring it out for you! Just think of it! No more pain, just that happy feeling forever!”

“It’s not  _ real- _ ”

“See?” Had she been paying attention, perhaps it wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps things would have been different. But Marceline hadn’t been paying attention, had let her guard down at the wrongest possible second, and once more she was punished for her complacency by the pink hand dropping from her cheek, grabbing hold of the vampire, and pulling her close. It happened the moment the vampire’s ear pressed against the pink mass-  _ it’s so warm so soft so _ -that made up Bonnibel's new body. The world fell away entirely and instead Marceline found herself not up the tower, not even in the Candy Kingdom, but in a painfully familiar cabin, one that was still in the process of being rebuilt after the Vampire Incident. 

Except this one wasn’t in the process of being rebuilt. This one was intact, and even from her spot reclining in a soft, warm bed Marceline could see she was in a bedroom, could sense the sunlight trickling through the dark curtains that just failed to reach the bed, could feel the soft mattress and fluffy blankets.  _ Where…?  _ But she knew where she was. This was a place she revisited in her mind whenever Reality became too harsh, when the nightmares threatened to overwhelm her and she felt too lost to find her way back Home. She often replayed this memory, over and over, one of the very few that had burned itself into her psyche not because of how horrible it was but because it was the only time,  _ the  _ only time in her unnatural life, that she had felt truly safe, warm, and loved. Truth be told, she came back here a lot.  _ This… this isn’t real… _

But she wanted it to be.

She tried to roll onto her side, not because she wanted to but because that’s what happened in her memory, only to find herself too weighed down by another, just as she always was. That’s where the giggle originated from and Marceline smiled at the sound, her arm wrapping around Bonnibel’s waist no matter how she tried to fight it. Yes, this was the Bonnibel she remembered: humanoid, warm, and delightfully nude. They both were. In her memory Marceline purred and Bonnibel chortled from where she rested on the older woman’s chest, shivering when cool hands traced down over her hair, down her neck, resting on a very familiar bite mark. In revenge the Bonnibel of her memories traced over her queen’s bare chest, teasing the love bites and scratches she had left behind. After all, she had argued, if Marceline could mark her then it was only fair she got the same privilege. Who was the musician to argue? And so her arms had contracted and she held this Bonnibel tighter, purring against her as the younger woman sighed in contentment.

Peace. It invaded Marceline’s soul and made itself at home, evicting Doubt and Fear and Pain from where they were so ingrained, tearing them up at the root. In her memory the demon welcomed the change, delighted in the calm and security that came with it. It was new, it was novel, it was addictive, but it all stopped just short of Bonnibel whispering three little words, her soft declaration of love and devotion. Then Marceline was back. Back up the tower, back with the feeling that there was a hole in her chest, back to the unwavering knowledge that she was missing part of her soul, back with tears she didn’t remember shedding.

Bonnibel, the tower version, was smiling at her. It was kind, unlike her almost deranged grin moments-  _ was it moments? - _ ago. She looked almost touched. Marceline was given the opportunity to clear the tears, but whatever fire she had been relying on was gone. Not even embers remained to be rekindled.

“I remember that day, Marshy,” the tower murmured fondly. “That was the morning after we first-”

“Stop it.” Even Marceline could hear the pain in her voice, but what could she do about it? The best she could hope for was to avoid the piercing green gaze she was being assaulted with. It was too much.  _ How dare you.  _ Was her subconscious talking to her, or to Bonnibel?

“I’m your happy place.” There was fresh delight in the voice the tower and Bonnibel shared, but it was gentler now, something about that memory in particular softening it, and the blow of that declaration.

It hurt anyway. “Stop it,” Marceline repeated.

“I-”

Enough, if not entirely too much, and with one last demand that the tower stop whatever it was doing Marceline turned to leave, to find a different way to save Bonnibel.

“You’re my happy place, too, Marcy.” She froze. Maybe that was the point. Whatever it was, it was enough for the tower to press her advantage. “My happiest memories are all of you too, my sweet little marshmallow. That’s why my family can’t be complete without you. Don’t you see? We belong together. You know that.”

_ She’s right, you know,  _ something whispered from the back of her mind. Marceline no longer cared whose voice it was.  _ You’ve always known you belong at her side. _

“Marcy, how can I not be Bonnibel when I remember everything?”

Logic. Insufferable, irrefutable logic. Yes, that was the Bonnibel Bubblegum way of handling situations, of handling Marceline when she was being emotional. “Look,” the musician sighed despondently, “even if that was true, just ‘cause you have her memories doesn’t make you her.”

“What are we if not our memories?” 

Could she hear how hard Marceline was breathing in a vain attempt to calm herself? Could she see her shaking from behind?  _ Do you want her to know?,  _ the whisper questioned.  _ After all, Bonnie was always excellent at making things better, wasn’t she? _

“I remember when you taught me to dance in the ruins of the mall you found your record player in,” Bonnie-Tower continued. “I remember when you took care of me when I was sick. I remember how much you love when I braid your hair. I remember how beautiful your singing is. I remember you, my Marcy. My sweet little bat.”

The pink hand reached out again, this time to lace their fingers together. It gave a gentle tug and Marceline hesitated, just for a moment, before she relented. Whether she was pulled back to the candy elemental or whether she went willingly, it ultimately didn’t matter. The whispers were so prevalent now, a constant stream that had all but drowned out that self-deprecating voice that derided the demon for her failure to protect her mate. It wasn’t healthy, and it was probably an objectively bad sign, but deep in her heart, where the Truth and Lies she told herself muddled together, Marceline had to admit: it was an improvement. “Bonnie wouldn’t do this,” she breathed. It failed to sound convincing even to herself, and the whispers seemed to agree.  _ Bonnie has gone to impossible lengths before to protect her kingdom and her children, to assure their happiness and livelihoods. _

_ Sure, but… this?,  _ Marceline thought back. If she was going down the rabbit hole she was jumping on her own terms.

_ Her greatest potential was awakened. Do you not think Bonnie wouldn’t make use of every advantage at her disposal? _

Marceline stiffened, eyes widening.  _ That’s… exactly what Bon would do. _

_ And,  _ the whisper continued,  _ if she found that she could find a way to ensure eternal happiness for each of them? After all, they explode when they’re scared, don’t they? _

Spectacularly.

_But… she put that weakness in herself,_ Marceline mentally argued. She clenched her fist, trying to remember that conversation, hundreds of years ago. What had Bonnibel told her when the vampire had accidentally, gleefully, discovered it? And why was it so hard to remember? _She…_ For that matter, why was it so hard to think?

The hand pulled her down and soon the musician found herself sitting - actually sitting - next to Bonnibel. How oddly comfortable. “Here,” the elemental soothed, “rest right here for me, Marcy.” How sweet. How trite. Even still, there was no resistance when Bonnibel’s free hand reached out, turning her lover’s chin to face her. “There now. Isn’t that better?” Rather than say anything incriminating, Marceline bit her lip. The tower ‘tsk tsk tsk’ed almost disapprovingly, and she let go. It was instant, it was automatic, a reflex, but it was embarrassing. “You’re anxious. I understand, my sweet marshmallow. I can hear it.”

“...What?”  _ Telepath! _

Bonnibel giggled. “I’m not a telepath, Marcy, though I’m sure based on our past conversations that you’re assuming so. No, it’s much simpler! I’m connected to all candy across the universe.”

_...Simpler. Right. ‘pparently you and I have really different defs of ‘simple’.  _ That took a backseat to the bigger issue of- “Bon-” Stopped. Started again. “I’m not candy. Remember? Vampire, de.. mon..” She trailed off, because her gaze had traveled south, to where their hands were still entwined. Except her hand wasn’t its normal grey complexion. It was lighter now, softer, and if she concentrated, past the whispers and the unsettling calm they brought, she could feel it changing shape. There were just two problems: she wasn’t doing it, and it didn’t hurt.  _ That’s… that’s gonked up.  _ Instinct finally kicked in and she pulled her hand away, willing her limb back into its true shape with more difficulty than she cared to admit. Even to herself. “...You’re not her,” Marceline breathed. This time, though, there was no spark, no bite, no fury. Just a desperate need to convince herself.

“Taste my soul, Marcy.”

Her head snapped up, but the tower’s smile was Bonnibel’s self-assured smile, the one she wore when she knew, just  _ knew,  _ that She Was Right. Not good. “...What?”

“You’ve tasted my soul before. I remember.” Marceline did, too. Very not good. “I’m certain you remember what it tastes like. So!,” the tower chirped, “if they taste the same then I must be your Bonnibel, right?”

Her Bonnibel. Those words rang in the back of her mind, mingling with the whispers she could no longer pretend she wasn’t hearing. They numbed the ache those two words should have triggered, leaving only the fuzzy feels they came accompanied with. “...And when I’m right?”

“You aren’t,” she tittered.

“But if I am-”  _ why did I say if why glob it  _ “-then you gotta agree to let me help you.”

“Agreed. But! When you realize you’re wrong you have to let me fix  _ you _ . You’re so strong, my sweet marshmallow, but you’ve been fighting for so long that you don’t know how to stop. Do you?” Marceline bared her fangs at the accusation, but that just seemed to entertain the other immortal.

“...Fine. Let’s do this.” In her heart, Marceline wasn’t sure what it was she wanted the outcome of the little experiment to be. If she was right, and this wasn’t Bonnibel… well, that was a form of closure, wasn’t it? At the very least, the tower seemed genuine.  _ She offered. Would she do that if she wasn’t certain she was right? Bonnie doesn’t take unnecessary risks.  _ Was that thought her own?  _ Does it matter?  _ The demon frowned, shaking her head to clear her mind as much as possible. She may have only tasted her mate’s soul once, but the memory, the flavor was scorched into her core, such was the curse of being who she was. Just like Bonnibel’s special shade of pink, she would know her soul anywhere, for souls were unique and while they could change under extraordinary circumstances they bared everything about their owner. They couldn’t mislead, wouldn’t lie, and though Marceline so often cursed her birthright and her heritage, that one gift her father saw fit to make sure she inherited, she was thankful that, in this one particular instance, they would lead her to the truth.  _ Bon can lie. But her soul can’t. _

With one last glance, though whether she was seeking to be reassured or stopped even she didn’t know, Marceline breathed in. She drew out the soul embedded in the tower, teased out just a small piece of it from the whole. The onyx-haired woman knew from experience that not much was needed to ascertain the true nature of someone, for souls weren’t just honest they were vocal, all too ready to shout their intentions from the rooftops for anyone who knew how to decipher their language.

Marceline was an expert on the topic. She knew all about souls, was fluent in their unique tongue. It was a gift, passed down from father to daughter in hopes that one day she would take over the family business, guarding and ruling the Nightosphere and all the wayward souls there within. It was a necessary prerequisite, for souls needed to be collected and judged, stored and categorized, commanded and protected. Most of all they needed to be understood, for their keeper needed to know what made them tick, what parts were irrefutable and irredeemable, what parts were malleable and willing to bend to change. They were all unique combinations and, just like her father, she remembered every one she had ever tasted.

She remembered this taste. It was sweeter, much sweeter than it was hundreds of years ago, the flavor making Marceline’s fang’s tingle and her tongue itch. Everything else? Bonnibel’s soul could always be best described as stiff, one degree short of unyielding. It had a complex, cool flavor with a warm undertone, something the demon had never been able to place but certainly enjoyed, quite possibly more than was strictly healthy. Marceline remembered the first time she had tasted it, the way her own soul had reacted, the wave of calm that befell her, the sense of security that had accompanied it. The first time she tasted it the sensation had sparked something protective in the queen, an unrelenting compulsion that could drive her to tear worlds apart, just as easily as it could incite her to rebel against her baser instincts and aspire to be Something More.

Yes, she remembered this taste. It broke her heart at the same time it warmed her very core. Marceline let the soul return to its owner, guiding its safe passage just as she did centuries ago. Its owner chortled, unbothered by what had just transpired, about needing to prove her own identity or the knowledge that she had trusted the very fabric of her being to a woman who had sworn herself against her. After all, She Was Right. “See, Marcy?”

Marceline swallowed hard, around her own paranoia and disorientation. She wanted to argue and so scrambled for more evidence, or anything that could pass for evidence, anything at all that proved the tower a liar.  _ It’s irrefutable, isn’t it?  _ “But…” But, she had nothing. Nothing but the whispers in the back of her mind, urging her forward.  _ Go to her. You belong by her side. You need each other.  _ She wanted that to be true, and so chose to believe it was. There was only so much energy she could muster, and it was overwhelmed by just how much she wanted her lover back.

The tower - Bonnibel - seemed to know that. Marceline could see it in her eyes, could hear the silent ‘I told you so’. “I don’t blame your skepticism, Marcy. You needed to see for yourself that I was telling the truth. Do you believe me now?”

A litany of affirmatives whispered in the back of her mind, deafening any and all doubts. There was no relief as she succumbed, but there was a parasitic calmness she found hard to shake. “...I.. yeah. Bon. Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Wunderbar!,” Bonnibel squealed happily. “I’m so proud of you, Marcy!”

Praise. As if that was compensation for all of her anguish. “So… what happens now, Bon?,” Marceline asked, rubbing the back of her neck nervously, looking anywhere but at her. This might all be so very, very wrong, but it felt Right.  _ Isn’t that ultimately what matters most? _

Bonnibel giggled at her queen’s uncertainty. “You’re so cute, Marshy. So sweet.”

Marceline snorted, letting her lover take the hand away from her neck so she could hold it. It was a better use of it anyway. “I’m not sweet, Bon. You forget all the peeps I’ve wasted?”

“Oh, no, of course not! However, I do remember how many you’ve ganked to protect me. It’s one of the ways you express love, isn’t it?” Rhetorical. “Now you can come home! Let me take away your pain. Stay by my side. Use your gifts! Protect me. Sing for me. Help me fix the world.”

_ Fix the world? Guess this version of Bon has weird megalomania mega mumbo jumbo dreams, too. Figs.  _ Her chuckle was humorless.  _ I’m not winning this, am I? Her soul tasted just like Bon’s. I can’t just leave her. Where else would I go?  _ And that was what it came down to, Marceline knew. Her place was with her mate, protecting her as a demon should. “...Alright, Bon. You win.” Her resignation to her fate wasn’t met with squealing, or laughing, or any fanfare at all. Instead, Bonnibel only offered her hand. Her hand, and a loving smile. 

Marceline took the hand, letting herself be pulled closer, against the warm pink body. If she closed her eyes she could almost pretend this was normal, that this was Bonnibel’s true form, that everything was alright.  _ What am I supposed to do?,  _ she thought, wondering if Bonnibel could sense it.  _ Fight her? Bolt?  _ She didn’t have it in her. Not anymore. Maybe she never did.  _ I’m not Finn. I’m not a hero or a good guy. _ And then the thoughts, the dejection, were purged and in their place a different presence made itself known.  _ You’re a sweet, devoted mate who only ever wanted to find her place. And now you’re safe,  _ the whispers reassured her.  _ You both are. This is her true form. She’s awakened. It’s your turn now. _

_ My turn?  _ It should have alarmed her that her own thoughts were becoming muted against the whispers. She no longer had it in her to care.

“Yes. You were wrong, Marcy. You might not see it, but I do. You’re so sweet, sweet enough for me. It’s just deep inside of you. Let’s bring it out, shall we? Let’s bring it out, and you’ll see how happy you can actually be.”

There it was again, that sensation of her body being changed without her initiating it. This time Marceline closed her eyes, unable to watch. Instead she focused on Bonnibel. How warm she was. How safe she made the older woman feel.  _ How sleepy I am.  _ “...What are you doing, Bon?,” she mumbled drowsily as she opened her eyes halfway, more out of curiosity than from concern. After all, if she was concerned she couldn’t be happy, and the whispers couldn’t have that, now could they?

“Nothing you don’t want me to. Now, why don’t you rest, Marcy? Think of your happy place. You’ll be all better soon.”

_ That’d be nice.  _ Marceline’s garnet eyes slid closed one final time, too heavy to even pretend she was still fighting. Already images were filling her mind, memories of the couple and the morning after they first physically expressed their love for one another. A warmth blossomed from the demon’s chest, too alluring for her to even notice as Bonnibel slid her bass from her back, placing it in her arms so that it could join her best friend in her transformation. As the warmth grew Marceline felt her thoughts grow still and silent, accepting the whispers in their place. They were much more pleasant than her thoughts, anyway. She didn’t miss them. Instead, the last things Marceline Abadeer felt before Bonnibel’s curse rewrote her mind was a soft kiss.

“Welcome home, my sweet little bat.”


End file.
